And thus Ushikawa’s day was over. It hadn’t been a very productive day. All he had been able to do was watch Fuka-Eri exit the building with all her belongings. He didn’t know where she had gone. Somewhere, but where? Inside the sleeping bag he shook his head. Wherever she went, it didn’t concern him. After a time his frozen body warmed up, his mind faded, and he fell into a deep sleep. Once more, the tiny frozen core occupied a solid place in his soul.

Nothing much happened the next day. Two days later was Saturday, another warm, peaceful day. Most people slept in during the morning. Ushikawa, though, sat by the window, listening to a tiny radio—the news, traffic updates, the weather report.

Just before ten a large crow flew up and stood at the empty front steps of the building. The crow looked around meticulously, moving its head a few times like it was nodding. It bobbed its thick large beak up and down, its brilliant black feathers glistening in the sunlight. The mailman pulled up on his small red motorcycle and the crow reluctantly spread its wings wide and flew off. As it flew away it squawked once. After the mailman had sorted all the mail into the mailboxes and left, a flock of sparrows twittered over. They bustled around the entrance but found nothing worthwhile and flew away. Next it was a striped cat’s turn. He had on a flea collar and probably belonged to a neighbor. Ushikawa had never seen the cat before. The cat peed in the dried-up flower bed, sniffed the result, and—apparently displeased with what it found—twitched its whiskers, as if it were bored. Tail up, it disappeared behind the building.

In the morning several residents exited the building. From the way they were dressed, it looked like they were going out for a relaxed day, or going shopping in the neighborhood—one or the other. Ushikawa knew almost all their faces by now, but he had not a speck of interest in their personalities or private lives. He never even tried to imagine them.

Your own lives are surely very important to each one of you. Very precious to you. I get it. But to me they don’t matter one way or the other. To me, you’re just flimsy paper dolls walking across a stage. There’s only one thing I’m asking of all of you—remain paper dolls and don’t interfere with my job here.

“Isn’t that right, Mrs. Pear?” He had given the woman currently passing this nickname, because she was pear shaped with a huge rear end. “You’re just a cutout paper doll. You’re not real. Do you realize that? Though you are a bit on the chunky side for a paper doll.”

As he thought this, though, everything in the scene before him began to seem meaningless, to not matter one way or the other. Maybe the scene in front of him didn’t exist in the first place. Maybe he was the one being deceived, by cutout people who didn’t really exist. Ushikawa grew uneasy. Being locked up in this empty apartment, day after day, spying on people, must be getting to him—something that would definitely get on a person’s nerves. He decided to verbalize his thoughts, to pull himself out of this funk.

“G’morning, there, Long Ears,” he said, looking through the viewfinder and addressing a tall, thin old man. The tips of the old man’s ears stuck out like horns from beneath his white hair. “Out for a walk? Walking’s good for you. It’s nice out today, so have a good time. I would love to take a walk and stretch my limbs a bit, but I’m stuck here keeping watch over this crummy entrance day after day.”

The old man had on a cardigan and wool trousers, and had excellent posture. He would look perfect taking a faithful white dog out for a walk, but pets weren’t allowed in the building. Once the old man was gone, Ushikawa was suddenly struck by a sense of impotence. This surveillance is going to end up being a waste of time, he decided. My intuition is worthless, and all the hours I’ve spent in this vacant room are leading me exactly nowhere. All I have to show for it is a set of frayed nerves, worn away like the bald head of a Jizo statue that passing children rub for good luck.

After twelve Ushikawa ate an apple and some cheese and crackers, and a rice ball with pickled plum inside. He then leaned back against the wall and fell asleep. It was a short, dreamless sleep, yet when he awoke he couldn’t remember where he was. His memory was a perfectly square, perfectly empty box. The only thing in the box was empty space. Ushikawa gazed around the space. He found it wasn’t just a void, but a dim room—empty, cold, without a stick of furniture. He didn’t recognize the place. There was an apple core on an unfolded newspaper next to him. Ushikawa felt confused. Why am I in such a weird place?

Finally it came to him, and he remembered what he had been doing: staking out the entrance to Tengo’s apartment. That’s right. That’s why I have this single-lens reflex Minolta with a telephoto lens. He remembered the old man with white hair and long ears out for a walk alone. Like birds flying home to their nests at twilight, memories gradually returned to the empty box. And two solid facts emerged:

1

Eriko Fukada has left.

2

Tengo Kawana hasn’t come back yet.

No one was in Tengo Kawana’s third-floor apartment. The curtains were drawn, and silence enveloped the deserted space. Other than the compressor of the fridge switching on from time to time, nothing disturbed the silence. Ushikawa let his imagination wander over the scene. Imagining a deserted room was a lot like imagining the world after death. Suddenly he remembered the NHK fee collector and his obsessive knocking. He had kept constant watch but never saw any trace that this mysterious man had left the building. Could he be a resident here? Or was it someone who lived here who liked to pretend to be a fee collector to harass the other residents? If the latter, what would possibly be the point? This was a very morbid theory, but what else could explain such a strange situation? Ushikawa had no idea.

Tengo Kawana showed up at the entrance to the apartment building just before four that afternoon. He wore an old windbreaker with the collar turned up, a navy-blue baseball cap, and a travel bag slung over his shoulder. He didn’t pause at the entrance, didn’t glance around, and went straight inside. Ushikawa’s mind was still a bit foggy, but he couldn’t miss that large figure.

“Welcome back, Mr. Kawana,” Ushikawa muttered aloud, and snapped three photos with the motor-drive camera. “How’s your father doing? You must be exhausted. Please rest up. Nice to come home, isn’t it, even to a miserable place like this. By the way, Eriko Fukada moved out, with all her belongings, while you were gone.”

But his voice didn’t reach Tengo. He was just muttering to himself. Ushikawa glanced at his watch and wrote a memo in his notebook. 3:56 p.m., Tengo Kawana back home from trip.

At the same moment that Tengo appeared at the entrance, a door somewhere opened wide and Ushikawa felt reality returning. Like air rushing into a vacuum, his nerves were instantly sharp, his body filled with a fresh vitality. He was again a useful part of the outside world. There was a satisfying click as things fell into place. His circulation sped up, and just the right amount of adrenaline surged through his body. Good, this is how it should be. This is the way I’m supposed to be, the way the world is supposed to be.

It was after seven p.m. when Tengo appeared at the entrance again. The wind had picked up after sunset, and the temperature had dropped. Tengo wore a sweater under a windbreaker with faded jeans. He stepped outside and stood there, looking around, but he didn’t see anything. He glanced at where Ushikawa was hiding, but didn’t pick out the observer. He’s different from Eriko Fukada, Ushikawa thought. She’s special. She can see what others can’t. But you, Tengo—for better or worse you’re an ordinary person. You can’t see me sitting here.